


Red Sky At Morning

by halcyonian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonic Possession, M/M, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn, Southern Gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonian/pseuds/halcyonian
Summary: Jake English, up-and-coming reporter for the Prospitian Times, has been waiting to make a truly stunning article that will set him apart from the pack for what feels like an eternity. Now, it seems he'll get the chance to break into, if not international, than at least tri-county fame with his new assignment. A piece on the death of Smallville, America-- and he even has a good lead on where to start. His cousin Jane tipped him off to a tiny township buried in the Deep South almost trapped in time, and invited him down for a visit. Strange things keep happening in Derse, Lousiana, however, and Jake has to wonder; is there a bigger story buried away in this dying whistle-stop?





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Like a red morn that ever yet betokened,  
> Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,  
> Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds,  
> Gusts and foul flaws to herdsmen and to herds"

Jake English had initially planned on sticking to a smaller radius in the Northeast to do his research in, but when Jane Crocker asked you to come by and visit for a spell, you sucked it up and paid for the gas money to drive down to Buttfuck, Nowhere.

 

The handwritten letters filled with somewhat charming anachronisms from the 1950’s and phone calls that could stretch late into the night were what had first beckoned him to come to this little Podunk town planted deep in the heart of the South where his cousin had resided all her life. And what with Jane’s descriptions, of decaying homes and a small-town psychic with frighteningly accurate predictions, he had expected it to at least look the part of the setting for a story of adventures and mysteries when he rolled in after an exhausting drive in his beat-up old Ford. Sadly, he found that Derse, Louisiana looked much like any other town that had found itself on the wrong roads when the U.S. government started rolling out the interstates. Surely it had to have a speck of charm buried in it? A bit of treasure in the trash, a nugget of gold in a pyrite mine…

 

Just about anything that wasn’t another mosquito would be just fan-flippin’-tastic. His arrival had coincided perfectly with the setting of a pregnant, bloody sun behind broad, ancient oak trees, and the local parasites were quick to zero in on a new target. He’s slapped what feels like a cloud of the little buggers already, and that was just stepping out of the car to walk up to dear Jane’s door! Can’t a bloke keep at least a pint of blood in his veins?

 

Taking a moment to glance around the surrounding neighborhood as he strolled up the gravel path, he can’t help but marvel at the difference between properties. Jane’s home, a stately double-gallery that, while clearly older than some of the shops in what passed for a downtown, still looked well-tended for, stood out among a dozen similar pieces of architecture. A dozen pastel paints peeled like a nasty case of athlete’s foot, and windows either glared at him with jagged glass shards or stared blindly into the day with boards and shades, the occasional door hanging open in the grimace of rigor mortis. A shutter banged erratically as a light breeze swept through, doing little to cut through the muggy oppression of a climate Jake had never had the opportunity to get used to.

 

“Spooky.” Jake mumbled, half expecting a rotting corpse to come shambling out of one of those open mouths, wailing for his cerebellum. Watching old zombie movies during his stays in seedy motels on the way down was certainly better than pay-per-view porn, but Romero still took his toll.

 

He didn’t bother checking the address a second time; he’d already written it millions of times on the backs of envelopes and packages and whatever else he had felt the need to send to Jane, and wasting time instead of getting inside to a hopefully more welcoming environment simply didn’t sit right with him at the moment.

 

Jake stepped up on the porch of the somewhat less creepy house, gripping the ornate knocker and giving the door a few firm raps with the hopes that she would answer soon. The bugs out here were absolutely merciless, and what with the number of times he’d been bitten already, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had already contracted some sort of disease. Soon, his prayers were answered. He heard muffled footsteps coming towards the door, before it swung open, revealing his darling cousin. Immediately Jake found himself drawn into a tight hug, one that made him gasp for breath the moment she released him. Despite her frilly dresses and aprons, Jane Crocker could and would squeeze the life out of a man. Perhaps that was the secret to her home’s enduring beauty in this suburban graveyard?

 

“Oh, Jake! You’ve finally arrived! Come in, you must be exhausted. I’m certain that the drive down here was hardly short or easy.” Jane exclaimed, ushering Jake into the house. He barely had time to grab his bags from the ground before being dragged inside. ”Drop your bags in the corridor for now. We’ll deal with them later. I’d suggest you head upstairs for now; I have some company over. And well, I’m not sure if meeting a man like him would make your first day in town pleasant. He can be a bit of an esoteric bastard.”

 

A man like him, she said. Well, that definitely sparked Jake’s interest. Though he was sure that there was plenty of pleasant people in town, nothing made headlines like a story from the perspective of the town pariah. The story was already writing itself! All he needed was a couple of photos of what he assumed was an old, out of shape, cotton king that longed for the glory days, slap it on the front page, and any papers that his company could print would be flying off the presses straight into the waiting hands of old and new readers. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to sit in on the meeting and snap a few pictures. Though, before he went straight for the kill and directly plugged whatever this haggard monarch had to say about his deteriorating town, he ought to get another person’s perspective.

 

“Well, I want to know more about this man, Janey! I think I could write my piece on him. What exactly has he done to tick you off? What’s his role in town? Tell me everything you know!”

 

As if to punctuate his questions, a new, disembodied voice floated towards them from deeper in the house that didn’t quite sound like the Foghorn Leghorn stereotype he’d been expecting from a deteriorating capitalist clutching the tatters of his reputation with fingers that had dipped in many a literal and figurative pie. Most toppled cotton kings didn’t sound young enough to be fresh out of college, did they? Usually you needed time to fuck up that badly.

 

“Jane, chèr, whatever salesman is at the door surely doesn’t take priority over leaving me alone in the parlor. I swear your mother’s portrait is considering beheading me every time I glance at it.” came a dry, male voice, coming closer as he spoke.

 

A man sauntered into the hall as if he owned the place and about three adjacent homes, pausing only a moment when he noticed the new arrival. Jake’s disappointment was damn near tangible; instead of a failed Monopoly Man spewing racial diatribes and mourning the times when he’d all but ruled Derse, Jane’s visitor was a young man about his age with the build of a fencer, a crooked nose that looked as if its owner was used to getting belted in the face, and a terribly offensive fashion sense. Or was it avant-garde? Regardless, most people didn’t stroll about in vividly pink suits on a regular basis. There went yet another one of his brilliant ideas, quashed by a dark young man his age in an offensive suit. It was clear that the world didn’t want to do him any favors.

 

“Dirk, this is no salesman. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have dared to entertain the thought of leaving you unsupervised in my parlor. The very thought terrifies me. But, this is my cherished cousin, Jake English. He’s from all the way up North, and he’s had a very long drive here. He didn’t come here to entertain your… Eccentricities, shall we say.” Jane says, drawing Jake closer. “And Jake, this is Dirk. Dirk Lalonde, to be precise. He’s from one of the older families around here, and as you can tell by his way of dress, a family with a great amount of money to spend.”

 

“How crass, Jane. I don’t discuss your accounts with every stray Yankee that stumbles across my path, or at least, not without offering them a slice of pee-can pie beforehand. Though, with your pastries and their record-breaking sugar content, perhaps we should hold off.” Dirk drawled, weirdly orange eyes giving him a cursory once-over before returning all his attention to Jane. It wasn’t that Jake felt ignored or anything, but being condescended to by a man in colored contacts and a hideous suit was a bit much!

“I’m not being crass, Dirk, dear. I’m simply speaking the truth. You can be quite odd when you want to be.” Jane pauses for a moment after, and it seemed that she was very deep in thought. Or at least, pretending to be. “Though, all our business talk aside, I’d like to ask you a favor. As a friend.”

 

“I can’t possibly show my cousin the hospitality he deserves, what with the fact that Poppop is staying with us for the remainder of the summer, and taking up the only guest room we have. I know that your hearth is much grander and more welcoming than my humble abode. Besides, I think some company would do you good.”

 

At this point, Jake was certain that he was caught in something that was beyond his comprehension as a commoner, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be playing part in it.

 

“Janey, it’s not a big deal, I can sleep on your couch. I don’t mind at all-” He began to protest, before being shushed with a stern look from Jane.

 

“Jake, I want you to have the best experience possible. And I truly believe that Dirk is the one that can offer it to you. He has the means to, and besides, he’s the very definition of hospitality. You do understand, don’t you? This is all for your good.” Jane clasped Jake’s hands in hers, and Jake had a sinking feeling that if he said anything but yes, he would be in for it. So, he just nodded weakly, before casting another glance back over to whom he assumed would be his new host, who appeared to be pasting a generic Indulgent Smile on his face while staring at Jane. A smile, perhaps, but the expression in his eyes was inscrutable. He was reminded of a pair of cats circling each other, seeking out a weak point to exploit, while a particularly tasty sparrow sat between them. If only he’d drove through the night and arrived before his new friend, the Pepto-Bismol mascot, had come a-calling--!

 

On the bright side, while there was nothing as obvious to exploit as his dreams of a cotton king, he could always do some snooping on Dirk. Surely he had some dark secrets to isolate him from the rest of town, like a deformed twin chained up in his basement or an unsolved disappearance, just waiting to be exposed. He was absa-tively certain that Dirk had to have something to hide.

 

Jake shook himself out of his imagined scandals as the conversation kicked back up from silent staring contest into something so thick with tension that it might serve as insulation and protection from the icy barbs embedded in the words of his hosts.

 

“I’d be delighted to accommodate Mr. English, chér. I’m sure that I can find a room in my home that can keep him in the comforts that, ah, some of us are used to. And, Mr. English?” Dirk said, turning his icy gaze towards Jake. “Why don’t you join us in the parlor? I’m sure you’re shaking like an aspen leaf in a firm breeze from the exhaustions of your long journey, but I find that bourbon and lemonade fortifies the spirit. One for the road, if you will.” Speech apparently over, he turned on a heel, retreating back into the parlor from whence he came, and leaving the cousins alone in the foyer.

 

“Don’t mind him, Jake.” Jane murmured, tone mildly amused as she went to follow her ill-tempered guest. “He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.”

 

“And apparently it rotates around him too.” Jake mumbled in reply, trying not to catch his new host's attention and thus incite his wrath. Dirk seemed… fairly unpleasant upon first impression, if he was going to be nice about it. He trailed after Jane, following her into the parlor. He seats himself in one of the overstuffed sofas, where he remained for the rest of Dirk and Jane's conversation.

 

While, to the untrained eye it might seem as if they were two amicable business partners having a conversation on settlements and accounts and whatever else business people had to discuss, it was actually something else, a labyrinth of veiled insults and trap questions that Jake fell into whenever he tried joining the two. He wasn’t even sure whose side he ought to be on-- both Jane and Dirk seemed happy to use him as a pawn against the other, whether it was using him as a backhanded insult or a standard to be held up against. He really didn't understand rich people and their backwards customs, and he hoped that he never had to.

 

After what seemed to be an eternity of thumb twiddling on his part, the conversation finally came to a close. Dirk and Jane both stood, and Jake took that as his cue to come back out of the shell he’d retreated into about fifteen minutes in and scramble to his feet.

 

“Well, it was an absolute pleasure to have you over, Dirk, as always. You too, Jake. I'm sorry I couldn't have you over, but I'm sure that Dirk will be an excellent host.” Jane said as she led them to the foyer. Jake wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't dare voice his complaints. He was about to pick up his bags before Jane stopped him, directing a saccharine smile in Dirk's direction. “Dirk, would you be a dear and get Jake's bags for him? He's obviously out of sorts, and it'd be rude not to help him. And, I do hope you and Jake get along swimmingly while he’s visiting.”

 

“You’ve been an absolute peach, Janey. We’ll have to do this again sometime soon, ere I start to miss our scintillating conversations.” Dirk gushed, offering a smile that was only a few shades away from a snarl before glancing warily at Jake’s bags. Apprehensions or no apprehensions, he silently acquiesced to her request, arms held out slightly away from his sides so the bags didn’t even have a chance at sullying that stupid suit. For his stance, they might have crawled with contagion and disease.

 

They both stepped out of the door, but Jake casted one more desperate glance back at Jane, seeking an escape from a dreadful fate. But Jane just gave him a rueful smile, closing the door in his face. He couldn’t believe that his own cousin was so cold-hearted! To shut him, her own flesh and blood, out and place him under the dubious care of some strange (and not to mention, extremely petty) aristocrat! He was as happy as Dirk was to find himself in this situation, if not happier.

 

“Well, are we going to get going, or are we going to keep on standing on Jane’s doorstep?” Jake snapped, doing his best to brush off the condescending glance that Dirk shot him for a moment before stepping down off the porch, polished shoes somehow completely free of dust even as he walked through the gravel. Did this pompous asshole carry around a wipe with him at all times, or…?

 

“My car is around the side.” Dirk said shortly, taking a detour off the gravel to enter a narrow side-driveway that Jake hadn’t even noticed on arrival. “Feel free to leave your jalopy here or follow me back to the grounds in it, but your bags are riding in the trunk with yours truly. Keeping up appearances and all. Though,” he added, setting the bags down next to a vintage Dodge Deluxe that looked almost cherry to Jake’s admittedly untrained eyes. If cherries, of course, came in a buttery yellow that seemed to absorb the sun within its paint. “You had better make your decision quickly, Mr. English. This bus is leaving in less than a minute.”

 

Jake hesitated, stalling as he tried to decide which was worse-- driving alone to the outskirts of this dying town to a place he’d never been, or sitting through a drive with Dirk Lalonde. The sound of the driver’s door slamming shut broke him out of his state of tharn, and he ran for the Dodge, sliding into the passenger side and closing the door behind him. Even as he fumbled for a seatbelt, something that Dirk didn’t seem interested in strapping on before he pulled out into the main road, he couldn’t help but try to throw out a few thorns of his own.

 

“Bit of a laugh, calling good old Neytiri a jalopy, ‘chum’. Your car ought to be in a museum for gas guzzlers.”

 

The look Dirk shot him seemed composed equally of confusion and annoyance, but it didn’t last long. Eyes on the road seemed to be a universal thing, even in shitty whistle-stops. “A 1947 isn’t that old, Mr. English.” he replied, sounding somewhat bemused.

 

For better or for worse, the next twenty minutes of driving were silent except for the purr of the engine and their breath, allowing Jake to drift into a light doze where he wasn’t maligned by strutting pink secretary birds like his new host. Maybe things would be better when he awoke.

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd and assisted by garlicbrother.tumblr.com and tasteful-side-blog.tumblr.com ! reviews and criticism welcomed!


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